


däemon? däemon!

by nightdotlight



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: 5 + 1, M/M, Swearing, dumb paranormal investigator has a crush on jack frost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 22:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightdotlight/pseuds/nightdotlight
Summary: 5 times Jack Frost didn’t understand Theon Astley, and one time he did.





	däemon? däemon!

EVEN AFTER JACK FROST BECAME A GUARDIAN, HE SPOKE LITTLE TO OTHER SPIRITS AND MYTHS.

They had their own lives and holidays, he supposed, so while he endeavoured to be a friendly face to anyone who might be in need of a guardian’s help, he didn’t want to intrude on their privacy.

Still, he liked to think that he knew the vast majority of the entities in existence, whether they were a guardian or not.

Which brought him to the current situation: his assumption was clearly incorrect. Who the guy currently standing in front of him was, Jack Frost had absolutely no clue.

It appeared the cluelessness was mutual, judging by the clear confusion on the face of the man flicking dirty blonde hair out of his eyes and squinting slightly as if trying to place Jack’s face.

Neither of them spoke for about thirty seconds, an awkward silence forming in the air between the pair.

Visibly beginning to fidget with his clothes and hair, the other spoke first.

“I have places to be and things to do, so if we’re done blankly staring at one another, I’m going to go.” His tone was drier than Jack had expected, and humorous. Flicking his hair again— he really did have a problem, he’d done it at least five times in as many minutes— he turned away, walking down the street towards the ominous-looking house at the end of the cul-de-sac.

Scratch that- the house was definitely haunted; Jack was sure that one of the children this morning had mentioned it, and the place just screamed ‘bad’. Running to catch up to the blonde head, he caught up just as the other placed his fingertips on the rusty gate.

Jack stared at him. “What are you doing?” He hoped that making eye contact would express what he saw as the desperate gravity of the situation, here in a place where nightmares were known to roam. “You shouldn’t go in there.”

“Why not?” Jack couldn’t tell if the other was being sarcastic or not.

He hoped he was.

“There have been reports— demons, ghosts, you know?” When the other didn’t respond, he continued. “It’s dangerous, you could get hurt.”

“Really? That’s good, otherwise I would have come here for nothing.”

Jack watched, practically unable to comprehend the situation, as the blonde man sauntered up the path and knocked on the door briskly.

It opened, revealing a cavernous darkness, daring anyone foolish enough to approach to enter the abyssal space. Stale air flooded out into the dark, starless night sky, bringing with it a damp, dismal stench of rot and decay. Bile rose in Jack’s throat, burning it. He could have sworn that he faintly heard a low, melancholic groan, no doubt originating somewhere within the house.

The man on the doorstep walked in without so much as a blink.

As slowly as it had opened, the door began to close behind him, Jack’s view of the other diminishing second by second. Casting a glance and silent plea up at the spot where clouds obscured the moon and the man who resided within, he sighed imperceptibly, flying up to the door and slipping inside only seconds before it closed, cutting off the last dregs of weak light from the world outside.

The person he had followed was nowhere in sight— straining his eyes slightly, Jack saw a faint flicker of light around the corner, deciding immediately to follow it rather than remaining solitary in the suffocating darkness.

Turning a corner, his eyes fixed on the silhouette holding a flashlight, backwash slipping between singular blonde hairs to form a ghostly halo in the still somewhat opaque air occupying the room. Eager to forgo being alone among the oppressive presence that seemed to occupy the house, Jack moved forward to the other’s side, who didn’t jump as his head turned to survey the new arrival, instead nodding in a silent greeting.

“What are you doing?” Although normally loathe to repeat himself, Jack felt unable to muster up anything besides the low hiss. The other’s head turned once more to study his face curiously.

“I wanted to find a demon.” He didn’t even lower his voice, and despite his casual tone of voice, each word rang sharply around the room, echoing minutely as if another being had repeated back the words in a reverent whisper.

Whatever Jack had expected, it certainly wasn’t this. He stuttered for several moments, confused, before forcing himself to hurry and catch up with his confusing acquaintance, opposed as he was vehemently and desperately to avoid being left alone in a place that he had no doubt housed something, demon or otherwise.

His eyes nervously surveyed the darkness surrounding them on all sides, obscure as it was. Something could be standing right next to him, inches away from his body, and he would have no idea. Unconsciously he shivered as the other passed him the flashlight and knelt down to pick the lock on a door before standing back up and reclaiming the light as it swung open, its silence a stark contrast to the squeaking of what had to be every other hinge in the house.

In front of the two, stretching down into endless gloom, a staircase led down into what Jack guessed was the basement.

He looked straight at the other, who looked discordantly smug for the situation.

“No.” The only response was a shrug, and footsteps as he was quickly left behind. Cursing, Jack began his own descent, fearing what may happen were he to lose sight of the light. About halfway down, he caught up with the other, who had stopped to wait. Falling into step, they continued downwards, past where concrete steps turned to archaic brick and any form of draughts gave way to warm, stale air tainted by a fetid reek.

Clearing his throat, his companion began once again.

“While I was researching, the basement came up multiple times as one of the hotspots for demonic activity within the house,” Jack’s heart pre-emptively sank at what he would say next, which judging by the elongated pause would be in a league of its own when it came to foreboding statements. “Especially since there are reports of various satanic rituals being carried out in the house and most specifically the cellar.”

Jack wasn’t sure if he wanted to start sobbing or punch his companion (or himself, considering he had followed him) in the face.

He felt the change beneath his feet from steps to level ground and looked up, seeing nothing particularly incriminating. Perhaps there was nothing here, he thought, relieved.

Then he looked towards where the flashlight’s beam was pointed at the floor.

There, on the dull bricks, a crude pentagram had been painted in what could have been either blood or red paint, and Jack wasn’t particularly hurried to find out.

Exasperation mounting, he looked at his companion, who met his eyes, chuckling at his comically unamused expression as he placed down the flashlight.

“Let’s see if there’s anything down here, shall we?” He crept forward to the pentagram with curious eyes, ignoring Jack’s obvious alarm. Placing a hand down in the centre, he sat there cross-legged, surveying the room.

“Well? Is there anybody here?” He asked softly, starting out slow. Then, suddenly dropping any previous sense of decorum, he spoke in a clearer voice.

“Hey, you demon fuck!”

Jack choked on thin air. _Oh_ _my_ _god_ , _I’m_ _going_ _to_ _die_. _My_ _last_ _moments_ _will_ _be_ _spent_ _with_ _the_ _biggest_ _idiot_ _on_ _planet_ _Earth_.

Still, the words echoed without a response. The other seemed to think for a moment.

“Don’t,” Jack hissed a warning.

His companion looked over, meeting Jack’s eyes briefly before he began to move, smiling as he did.

Relived at first, Jack soon reached new levels of exasperation as the other man lay down in the centre of the pentagram.

“I wonder if this demon will eat my heart,” he wondered aloud.

Jack sighed again, deeply.

“Or my lovely companion’s,” the other continued.

“No! Don’t rope me into your shit!” Jack hissed sharply, despite his heavy heart telling him that perhaps the damage had already been done.

“Hey, demon! Eat my heart!”

No response, save for maybe silent cringing.

“Rock n’ roll, buckaroo!”

That particular line had all of Jack’s exasperation evaporating away, to be replaced by emphatic confusion. _What_ _the_ _fuck?_

Luckily— or unluckily, depending on your perspective— there was never any response, the other eventually becoming tired of taunting thin air and running out of ways to lure the demon out into the open.

“I bet it was you,” he faked a grumble as they left the house, “you’re a Guardian, so it probably didn’t want to show its face.”

More relaxed in the open air, Jack floated a few inches off the ground and chuckled. “I think that perhaps you are the only person ever to be disappointed that a demon didn’t maul you or eat your organs.”

“Disappointed is a strong word. I’m Theon Astley, by the way—” he offered his hand to Jack, who shook it tentatively— “and I’ll see you around, Jack Frost.”

Theon smirked, giving Jack a two-fingered mock salute before turning and walking away down the street, streetlights giving his hair a pale golden glow. When Jack blinked, he was gone.


End file.
